The Secret Warning (14 page)

Zufar shrugged. “Who can say?” Mopping his brow, the dealer added, “Anything is possible if my trusted friend and associate, Bogdan, could be party to such a villainous plot!”

The piercing wail of a siren came from the street outside. In a moment two ambulance attendants strode in, carrying a stretcher. Soon afterward, the police arrived.

“The golden Pharaoh!” the Hardys cried out

Frank and Joe insisted on accompanying their father to the hospital. Radley elected to stay behind to acquaint the police with the situation.

“After we turn the Pharaoh's head over to the proper authorities, I'll meet you at the hospital,” the operative promised.

It was past one o'clock in the afternoon and the Hardys had just finished eating a long-delayed breakfast in the hospital coffee shop when Radley finally rejoined them.

“How's your dad?” was his first question.

“Okay,” Frank replied, “although he's still unconscious. The doctor says he was definitely drugged and he may not come out from the effects for hours.”

Radley breathed a deep sigh of relief. The golden Pharaoh's head, he told the boys, had been entrusted to the Egyptology Department of the Metropolitan Museum for expert examination.

“Whew! This mystery is a real cliff-hanger!” Joe remarked. “I can hardly wait to find out what Perry will discover aboard the Katawa, too!”

The boys were torn between wanting to stay near their father and to keep an eye on the salvage operations as Mr. Hardy had wished.

Finally Radley convinced the two young sleuths to return to Whalebone Island.

“There's not much you fellows can do here except wait,” he said. “So don't worry. I'll stick around till your dad revives.”

Frank and Joe taxied to La Guardia where Sam's pilot was standing by. Soon they were winging their way to Bayport. Back home, Joe phoned Chet to bring him up to date and make plans for the island trip. Frank, meanwhile, told Aunt Gertrude of the recent events, then the brothers tumbled into bed.

The alarm clock awakened them at three o'clock the next morning. The boys showered, dressed, and hurried down to the kitchen to find a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs awaiting them.

“You're a swell sport to get up just on our account, Aunt Gertrude,” Frank said. “We sure appreciate it.”

“Humph! Somebody has to see that you two get the proper nourishment,” Miss Hardy said tartly, yet with a pleased look in her eyes.

The boys sped off in their convertible to the boathouse, where Chet soon joined them.

“I m-must be out of my mind to c-crawl out of the sack at this time of night!” he complained, shivering in the brisk, cool breeze of the bay.

“You wouldn't want to miss out on all the excitement, would you?” Joe said with a chuckle. “This may be the day we ferret out the final answer to the whole mystery—including the riddle of the Jolly Roger's ghost!”

Chet groaned loudly. “Now I
know
I should have stayed in bed!”

The
Sleuth
streaked out across Barmet Bay through the pre-dawn darkness. Late in the morning, they reached the
Petrel,
lying at the scene of the sinking, just north of Whalebone Island.

Roland Perry was resting on deck before going down for his second dive of the day.

“What's the picture, Rollie?” Joe asked.

“Better than we had any right to hope, fellows! I discovered the cargo had shifted enough so that I was able to cut a way through from the forward hold. Barring trouble, I should be able to get into the strong room itself on my next trip down!”

The Hardys and Chet were elated at the news.

“That'll be terrific!” Frank said enviously. “I wish we could be down there watching. Say, Rollie, did you do any salvage work for the Navy after the war?”

The diver nodded. “All along the coast here. A lot of ships are still resting on the bottom out in those waters. In fact, I remember seeing one enemy raider that your friend Captain Early accounted for.”

“He must have been quite a skipper,” Joe said admiringly.

“A real tiger, from the stories I've heard about him,” Perry agreed. “Had four enemy ships to his credit—in the Atlantic. On that cane we gave him when he left the
Svenson,
the quartermaster carved the latitudes and longitudes of all four sinkings.”

The Hardys stared at the diver.

“Latitudes and longitudes?” Frank echoed.

“Sure. You know—same as a fighter pilot painting his kills on the plane. We figured old Pearly Early had as much to boast about as any sky jockey.”

The diver broke off as his tender and Matt Shane approached. “Looks as though it's time for my next dunk, fellows,” Rollie said. “Stick around. I may have good news before the day's over.”

The Bayporters walked off toward the rail while Sid Carter fitted the diving helmet over Perry's head.

Chet shot a quizzical glance at the Hardys. “What's up? I saw the way you both looked just now when Rollie mentioned the cane.”

“Don't you get it?” said Joe.

“No,” replied Chet. “Let me in on the secret.”

“If Joe's thinking the same thing I am,” said Frank, “the burglar who did those break-ins may have been after that information carved on the captain's cane—not his pearls at all.”

“The location of those sinkings!”

“Right!” Joe turned to his brother. “You brought the cane along, didn't you, Frank?”

“Yes, it's in our boat. We'll take a look pronto!”

The three boys hurried across the deck and climbed down into the Sleuth, which was moored alongside. Moments later, they were exclaiming in surprise as they studied the markings on the cane.

Joe reached into a locker and pulled out a map which he unfolded.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” Frank remarked as he held the cane close and studied the latitude and longitude of Captain Early's first sinking. He read the numbers off carefully and Joe's finger swept across the map.

“Here it is! Off Newfoundland.”

Frank read the next set of markings and Joe translated the position into a spot off North Carolina.

The next prey to the firepower of Captain Early's destroyer had been sunk ten miles off the New Jersey coast.

“Wow!” said Chet. “My history book says that was called the graveyard of the Atlantic!”

Frank had a little difficulty making out the latitude and longitude numbers representing the fourth sinking. Inscribed near the handle of the cane, they were dim from wear. Frank relayed the position, and as Joe pinpointed the location, he suddenly exclaimed, “Good night! That's right where we are!”

“Those lines nearly dissect Whalebone Island!” Chet said excitedly.

“I wonder what kind of craft the captain sent to Davy Jones's locker here,” Joe remarked.

“Let's get hold of him on the radiotelephone,” said Frank. “He can give us the answer.”

At first there was no response. After several tries, however, Frank finally reached the officer.

“Captain Early!” he said excitedly. “That last bag made by your destroyer—was it off Whalebone Island?”

The boy heard the captain chuckle. “Yes, I guess it was. Our radar picked up that U-boat in the dead of night.”

“A submarine?” Frank asked.

“Right! We dodged her torpedoes and sank her with ashcans—depth charges, that is. The enemy left an oil slick bigger than a circus tent. We found debris the next morning. A certain kill.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Frank. “That's great news, Captain. We'll tell you all about it later and return your cane, too.”

Frank signed off and dashed out of the radio shack.

“You look as if you're about to jump out of your skin,” said Joe.

“Boy, I am!” Frank exclaimed, and told about the German sub.

“Then you mean—?” Joe's question was broken off by the high-pitched voices of excited crewmen running toward them.

“What's wrong, Sid?” Joe asked Perry's tender.

“An explosion down below!”

“Good night! Was Rollie hurt?”

“Doesn't seem to be from what he said on the phone,” Carter replied. “We're not sure just what happened. He's on his way up now.”

Tension ran high on the Petrel as the crew waited out Perry's gradual ascent. Finally he was hauled out of the water.

“Sure you're okay, Rollie?” Matt asked as the diver's helmet was removed.

Perry's face was flushed with rage. “Not a scratch—but it was sheer luck!” The diver related that as he was about to enter the Katawa's hold, he had sighted a huge squid which had apparently come prowling into the hulk. Perry had backed off to give it a wide berth. As he waited outside the sunken freighter for the squid to swim away, a sudden small explosion blew the creature to fragments!

Perry went on, tight-lipped, “Must have been a booby trap planted near the edge of the hold —gelignite, probably—and the squid brushed against it. Could've been me—which was probably the idea of whoever set the trap. Or, if I hadn't touched it off myself, my air line would have, while I was moving around inside. You know what that would have done!”

The boys grimaced. With a sudden loss of compression from a ruptured air hose, the diver would have been crushed to a jelly inside his helmet by the ocean pressure!

“Get this suit off me fast, Sid!” Perry directed, grim-faced.

Matt Shane looked apprehensive. “What are you going to do, Rollie?”

“I've got a score to settle with someone, Matt, and I aim to do it right now!”

“Hold on!” Captain Rankin stepped forward and gripped the diver's shoulder. “If you're implying Gus Bock's responsible for the explosive, you have no proof!”

“I don't need proof!” Perry growled. “You heard him threaten me the other night. Who else could've set that booby trap—the squid?”

Both Shane and Rankin pleaded in protest, but Perry refused outright to continue diving until he had dealt with Bock.

Finally the two older men agreed to accompany him to the
Simon Salvor
for a showdown. The Hardys volunteered to take them to the other salvage ship in the Sleuth. Chet, too, went along.

Moments later, they drew up alongside the Salvor. There was no attempt to block the party from the
Petrel
as they climbed aboard.

But the boys noticed a strange air of tension and anxiety among the Salvor crewmen who faced them.

“We weren't expecting visitors, Mr. Rankin,” said the
Salvor's
skipper coldly. “What's on your mind?”

“An explosive was planted on the
Katawa
by someone who wanted to kill our master diver,” Rankin replied. “Perry here thinks Gus Bock had something to do with it.”

“Where is he?” Perry spoke up harshly. “I'll tell him what I've come to say—face to face!”

“Not on this deck you won't,” the skipper said. “Gus is not here.”

“Then where is he?”

The eyes of the
Salvor
captain focused on the water. “Trapped on the bottom. He'll be lucky to see daylight again!”

 

 

 

 

 

G
US BOCK trapped! The Hardys and Chet were startled. Roland Perry stared in disbelief.

“Don't give us that,” the diver snarled. “Bock may be on the bottom, but he'll come up again. We'll wait till he does.”

“You'll have a long wait, then,” the
Salvor's
captain retorted.

“We'll wait,” Perry maintained.

“Anyhow, you're barking up the wrong tree. The only way one of our hands could have gotten to the
Katawa
is with scuba gear. And neither Bock nor anyone else has been off this ship except in a hardhat at the end of an air hose—not since the night he went ashore on Whalebone with Kraus.”

As he spoke, the captain jerked his thumb toward the baldheaded man with sandy eyebrows whom the Hardys had seen outside the cave with Bock. “Go ahead and talk to Gus on the phone if you don't believe me.”

“Might as well, Rollie,” Frank advised.

Perry scowled uncertainly for a moment; then, accompanied by the others, strode around the afterdeck to the opposite side of the ship where the diving crew was stationed.

He took a headset from one of the tenders and spoke into the microphone.

“This is Perry, Bock. You in trouble down there?”

Bock's voice came back weakly over the speaker, “What do you care?”